The Price of Justice
by Semblance of Sanity
Summary: Marcus Flint files a request with Death. Inspired by: "For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth." - NT / OCs/ Trigger for implied rape.


_055-6780-9221_

I paced around my room, clutching the wrinkled slip of paper Draco Malfoy had given me. The numbers ran around and around in my head relentlessly, almost blocking out the noises from the next.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," Mum murmured.

"- all I can think about - the smell - oh, Merlin -" Mom was sobbing, and I chanted the numbers in my head louder and louder. "He's all I think about, all the time. What if he escapes? What if he comes back?"

Sighing angrily, I yanked my phone out of my pocket and punched the numbers in. I cautiously held the phone to my ear.

"Grim Mortuary: you stab 'em we slab em," a computerized voice answered.

"Erm, okay," I stammered, unsure of myself. "I'm, uh, looking for the - well, he's -"

"Leave a name, and we will process your request," the voice interrupted.

"You - okay. Clint Bradley. That's - that's not my name -"

"Thank you for your request. Have a nice day."

I blinked and threw my phone on my bed. My moms had turned the radio on in their bedroom. I padded out into the hall and stared at the grain of their door. Martina McBride sang about broken wings as my moms whispered.

"I feel broken," Mom was saying. Her next words were muffled and I pressed my ear against the door. Someone sighed.

"- know how a star is born?"

"What?" I imagined her puffy, tear-stained face staring at my Mum incrediously.

"In order for a star to be born, a gaseous nebula must collapse," Mum told her. I frowned, confused, and Mom sighed.

"Cerys, I don't think -"

"No, listen. In order for it to be born, it must collapse. This is your collapse." Mum's voice was getting louder and louder. I could picture her gesturing wildly with her arms. Someone - Mom, probably - sniffled. "So collapse, babe. It's okay. You can break into million tiny pieces - Marcus and I will be here to hold you - but then you'll put the pieces back together and be something greater, something new. I wish like hell that man would have never -" Mum took a shaky breath as her voice faltered. "- touched you, and I want _so_ badly to rip his eyes out and cut his penis off, but I swear to Merlin, you will be a better person for having gone through this and carrying on."

Mom was crying again.

"I promise you. We will get through this. This is not your destruction, you hear me?"

I stepped away from the door, blinking back tears and shuffled down to the kitchen. I stared into the refrigerator for a bit before finally settling on milk straight from the jar. I choked, sputtering milk, as my phone rang in my pocket.

"Hello?" I answered hurriedly.

"Your request has been filed and shall be executed immediately upon your accepting of the terms," the computerized voice told me. I felt my heartbeat speed up.  
"What terms?"

"Summer of 2017, two weeks shy of your 44th birthday, you will step in front of a train at Kings' Cross Station and die."

Marcus' brain went blank. "P-pardon? I'm going to die at 44?"

"You will kill yourself two weeks shy of your 44th birthday," the voice repeated. I shook my head violently.

"That's rubbish, of course I won't."

"If you fail to do so, your son will die."

I sputtered a laugh. "I'm thirteen; I don't have a son."

"You will."

If thoughts were colors, my brain was a giant white room with angry red questions, weeping blue portraits of my mom, and gray clouds of confusion.

"Do you accept these terms?"

I fell silent, trying to figure out what the terms were. The computer sighed, which I hadn't known was possible. "If your request is accepted, you will fulfill our request. Failure to do so will result in the death of your son."

I didn't want to die at 44. That's entirely too early, isn't it? There were so many things I'd miss. Would I died before my moms? That would break their hearts.

I could still hear their music drifting through the floorboards. It seemed Martina McBride was on repeat.

 _This is not your destruction. This is your birth._

I pressed my lips together. It shouldn't have to be her birth. Evie Flint had been absolutely perfect the way she was, and then that bastard screwed everything up. If it cost me my life at age 44, so be it.

"I accept the terms."

* * *

"Police are now announcing the death of notorious serial rapist Clint Bradley from his jail cell yesterday morning. It appears he died of a heart attack -"

"Cerys!" Mom screeched from just behind me. I jumped up from the couch and watched her expression warily. "Cerys!"

Mum rushed into the living room, grabbing Mom's arms and frowning when nothing seemed to be wrong. "For Merlin's sake, Evie -"

"He's dead! He - he's dead!"

Mum blinked. "Who?"

Mom and I gestured wildly at the telly.

The reporter continued, "Police are noting no suspicious evidence regarding the death of Clint Bradley -"

Mom smiled for the first time since it had happened, and Mum started doing her "victory dance," reserved only for won chess and football matches.

"He's dead," Mom said repeatedly. "He's dead." Her smile was plastered on her face, and she bounded over to the door. She unlocked all four padlocks and flung it open. Mum dragged me over to the door and we all embraced while jumping."We're terrible parents," Mum laughed breathlessly. "Encouraging his homicidal tendencies."

"Nah, we're just encouraging his sense of justice," Mom said, ruffling my hair. "Right, sweetie?"

"Nothing comes without a price, and that's justice," I agreed. My moms grinned and told me I was so wise, but I was thinking about Kings' Cross Station and the train waiting for me.


End file.
